


Kiss Me Slowly

by WrathOfMacy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, F/M, Fear, Fred Weasley Lives, Fremione - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Hook-Up, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Prequel to "The Cell", Sex, Smut, Stolen Moments, ron who?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28240980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrathOfMacy/pseuds/WrathOfMacy
Summary: The house was quiet. The Order had quickly dispersed once everyone had gathered at The Burrow following their mission, eager to curl up in their beds and be with their loved ones. There would be time to talk and mourn in the coming days before the wedding.Hermione crept to the door of the bedroom in just her sleep shorts and camisole, thinking it unlikely that she would encounter anyone on her trip downstairs. She had just reached the landing when she remembered that George and Mrs. Weasley were sleeping in the living room where he had been laid on the sofa after returning. With a small sigh, she turned and headed back up the way she'd come. She was just passing the twins’ room when she noticed a dim light emanating from beneath their door. Curious, she veered off course and stood in front of the threshold.She listened hard but it there was nothing to be heard. On impulse, she reached a hand up and very softly knocked, surprised when the door, which was apparently not fully shut, swung open part way to reveal Fred.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 165





	Kiss Me Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by, and is a technically a prequel to, my Dramione fic, "The Cell." That said, THIS WORKS PERFECTLY FINE AS A STANDALONE ONE SHOT.
> 
> Important to note: this was written with the premise that Fred lives. If you read this just in the context of canon, it is incredibly fucking sad. If that's what you want, then by all means, but know that that was not my intention. 
> 
> As usual, mind the tags and rating. Happy reading!

> _Hold my breath as you're moving in,_  
>  _Taste your lips and feel your skin._  
>  _When the time comes, baby don't run, just kiss me slowly._
> 
> _Stay with me, baby stay with me,_  
>  _Tonight don't leave me alone._
> 
> \- Parachute

oOoOoOo

28 July 1997 – 4:03 a.m.

Hermione couldn’t sleep. Whether it was from the grief over losing Mad-Eye, the drop from the adrenaline rush earlier in the night, or the overall sense of impending doom, she couldn’t be sure. In any event, she laid staring at the ceiling of Ginny’s room, listening to her roommate snore. At least somebody was getting some rest.

It felt as if this was the night the war had really begun. Yes, there had been casualties and injuries before – Sirius, Bill, Dumbledore, even Katie and Ron the year prior – but this felt different. Hermione felt older, worn. There was a heaviness in her that soaked through to the bone. Chilled her. 

She had no intention of returning to Hogwarts, her parents were across the world without any inkling she even existed, Mad-Eye was dead, George had nearly had his throat cut, and Harry was determined that they undertake a seemingly impossible task on their own. Poor Hedwig hadn’t even made it out of the evening alive. Things were just getting started and Hermione already had the inescapable feeling that they were losing.

She rolled over and grabbed her wand off the bedside table, casting a quick tempus charm; four in the morning. She sighed and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, thinking perhaps she might sneak into the kitchen and make a cup of tea.

The house was quiet. The Order had quickly dispersed once everyone had gathered at The Burrow following their mission, eager to curl up in their beds and be with their loved ones. There would be time to talk and mourn in the coming days before the wedding.

Hermione crept to the door of the bedroom in just her sleep shorts and camisole, thinking it unlikely that she would encounter anyone on her trip downstairs. She had just reached the landing when she remembered that George and Mrs. Weasley were sleeping in the living room where he had been laid on the sofa after returning. With a small sigh, she turned and headed back up the way she'd come. She was just passing the twins’ room when she noticed a dim light emanating from beneath their door. Curious, she veered off course and stood in front of the threshold.

She listened hard but it there was nothing to be heard. On impulse, she reached a hand up and very softly knocked, surprised when the door, which was apparently not fully shut, swung open part way to reveal Fred.

He was sitting on the floor of the room with his back against his own bed, staring at George’s across from him. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that he looked a bit of a mess. He was paler than usual, and his hair was standing on end as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was clad in just a pair of pyjama pants and a faded grey Gryffindor t-shirt, but what struck her the most were his eyes. They weren’t Fred’s eyes. For years she had seen them, bright, the edges crinkled with laughter, but this man’s eyes were tired. Despite the difference in color, they looked shockingly like her own had in the mirror earlier that night.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to –“ she started contritely when he looked up at the open door.

He just shook his head. “You’re fine Hermione, no need to apologise. I could have locked it.”

She debated turning and leaving, giving him his privacy, but something nagged at the back of her mind and said, ‘not yet.’ 

“Are you alright?” she asked tentatively, taking a step toward him, just inside the door. The room was lit only by a lantern on the table between the two beds, casting flickering shadows up the walls.

“Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, bobbing his head and staring a hole into the floorboards between his feet. His mouth was set in a tight line.

“It’s… it’s okay not to be, you know. Alright, that is. Tonight… it was a lot.”

She hovered, unsure what to do, what her role was here. He looked up at her again with a grim expression.

“Every single person that I care about is involved in this war, Hermione. Every single… and I don’t know how to deal with that. Even Ginny is going back to that school, into a snake pit, and George… George almost died tonight.”

There it was. George. She stepped in further and, after a moment’s hesitation, clicked the door shut behind her.

“He’s okay Fred, he’s just downstairs. I know it was close, but he’s alright.”

“For how long though?” he asked her, searching her face as if she might actually have the answer. She usually did, after all. “I don’t think I can protect them all, there are too many.”

She crossed the room and slowly sank to the ground beside him. It was silent for a moment.

“We’re leaving,” she blurted, looking across at the old mock-ups of the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes logo that George had pinned over his bed. She’d spoken to Ron about it of course, and she thought Mrs. Weasley and Ginny knew the gist of what they were planning, but saying it out loud in such a way sparked a very real fear that she had been trying her best to choke down. A fear that it wouldn’t be enough. That they would fail.

“So I heard,” he replied. “I have a bit of experience with dropping out you know, a regular pro, really. Let me know if you need any pointers.”

He gave a half-hearted smile and nudged her shoulder with his. He was warm, solid, and, without thinking about it, she leaned into him. Fred stilled for a moment before softening against her. They were silent then, listening to the quietude of the usually bustling house.

“What if we lose?” she finally asked in a small voice, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t something The Order talked about, and it wasn’t something that Harry would even consider, but Hermione was a realist and she knew there was a chance that, no matter how much love and light they had on their side, they might not win this.

“Then we go down fighting,” he said firmly. “We can’t do more than that.”

Despite the resolve in his voice, his shoulders slumped forward like someone had punched him in the stomach. It took a second for her to realize that he was crying.

“George almost died,” he choked, burying his head in his hands.

Hermione faltered for a minute before she did the only thing she could think to do. She turned and shifted on to her knees and wrapped her arms around his trembling shoulders. He tried to mutter that he was fine and pull away, but she locked her hands together and held tight, refusing to let go. It only took a moment for him to give in and turn into her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. She felt his fingers dig into her back, clinging to her like he was drowning. After all, weren’t they?

And so, she held him. She held him, as the man who always worked so hard to make everyone around him laugh, cried. Tears slowly tracked down her own cheeks, but she remained silent as the grave, refusing to infringe upon his grief, his fear. Instead she repeated softly, over and over like a prayer with her cheek pressed against the top of his head, “He’s okay, George is okay.”

She didn’t know how long it was until he quieted, until her own eyes dried, she simply took comfort in him. Whatever minute amount of comfort there was to be had. She lost herself in his smell, cinnamon and nutmeg tinged with gunpowder, felt the lean muscles of his back under her hands, enveloped herself in his warmth. If there was one word to describe Fred Weasley, it was warm. His hair, his eyes, his smile, his laugh, everything about him was like a fuzzy blanket and a cup of tea on a cold, rainy day. And lately, it had been positively frigid.

He pulled back, but rather than retreating, he brought his forehead to rest against hers, one hand raising to cup her jaw, thumb lightly caressing her cheek. His warm breath washed over her and she felt her heartbeat in her throat, their mouths just inches apart.

If asked later, she couldn’t say who leaned in first, which of them closed the space, but before she could overanalyse it, her lips melted into his, urgent and yearning. She tipped her head and opened her mouth, inviting him in, one hand winding in the hair at the base of his neck and her other gripping his shoulder, holding him to her.

He jerked away suddenly, panting and searching her face with a conflicted, tortured expression. “Hermione, we shouldn’t…”

“I want this,” she whispered, meeting his eyes and giving him the consent that he seemed to be searching for. “I want you.”

Fred paused for the briefest second before he hauled her forward and crushed his mouth to hers in a searing, bruising kiss. All the pain, all the fear, all the heartache, pouring between them like a feedback loop. It was still there, but for a moment, as she was consumed by him, it felt almost bearable.

“Damn it all,” he growled against her mouth as he stood and pulled her up with him, hands trailing down her hips to cup her arse. In one fluid motion, he lifted her, so her legs wrapped around his waist. They stayed there for a moment, suspended, before he turned and lowered her on to the bed, hips coming to rest between her legs.

He kissed a blazing path down her jaw, pulling her hair to the side and settling into the spot beneath her ear where he licked and sucked lightly, all the while, one hand gripping her thigh while the other slipped under her shirt and brushed the bare skin of her abdomen while he rested on his elbow. He swore again when she tightened her legs and ground against his arousal through the thin fabric of their pyjamas.

“Silencio,” she gasped, brandishing her hand toward the door. It was one of several spells she had worked to master wandlessly in preparation to leave with Ron and Harry.

“Have you ever…?” Fred started, breathing heavily and leaning back to look at her.

“Yes,” she answered, nodding. She had had sex before. It certainly hadn’t been anything like this, but, despite all the other concerns plaguing them both, he didn’t have to worry about being her first.

“Charm?” he asked, tugging her shorts and knickers down.

“Potion,” she replied, shaking her head and slipping her hands beneath his shirt, dragging the hem up until he assisted in pulling it over his head. She sighed in appreciation, taking in his broad shoulders, spattered with freckles, and the light trail of copper hair that disappeared between the V of his hips.

She sat up and divested herself of her camisole before dropping onto her back, completely naked with him kneeling between her knees.

“Keep up Weasley,” she teased, twitching her eyebrows in the direction of his pants.

“I figured I should give you a minute before I ruin other men for you,” he quipped, tugging the waistband down and revealing a surprisingly large erection. Once they were discarded on the floor, he settled between her legs and planted his hands on either side of her head.

He looked as if he were going to ask her again if she was sure, so she reached her hand down and wrapped it around him, guiding him to her center. He stuttered out a shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut before thrusting forward into her.

She reeled for a moment, shocked by the sudden fullness. He didn’t move yet, just stayed still, connected, as if their tattered, frayed edges were knitting together in some brief semblance of wholeness.

“Hey,” she said quietly, bringing a hand up to trail her fingers lightly through the soft hair at his temple and willing him to look at her. After a brief pause, still unmoving, he opened his eyes and gazed down at her, expression brimming with unvoiced emotion. She craned her neck up and caught his lips in a kiss that was, ironically, gentler than the others had been. At that, he rocked his hips back and forward again.

She gasped against his mouth and he set a rhythm, moving in and out of her slicked passage in time with his tongue, sliding against her own.

She brought her knees up to hitch around his hips and raked her nails across his back. As he sank into her deeper and deeper, she felt a tantalising friction where he bottomed out and bumped her clit. Realizing this, Fred dropped onto his right forearm, supporting himself and slowing the pace so he could slip his left hand between them to play over her clit.

“You don’t have to-” she started, feeling a little self-conscious despite the sensation making her toes curl. She’d never gotten off with anyone else before.

“I want to,” he assured her, dropping kisses over the tops of her breasts and echoing her earlier sentiment. She felt herself shudder, overwhelmed by the pressure and the movement and the searing heat of him. After a few minutes it began to be too much, warmth pooling in her belly as her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

Everything was Fred; his smell, his taste, his touch - the heat scorched her. It was a truly lovely way to burn.

“I’m going to – you’re going to make me – ,” she stuttered, while he laved his tongue across the hollow of her throat.

He quickened the pace, swirling and flicking against the sensitive spot, unravelling her control until she came with a breathless gasp, every muscle in her body spasming wildly as she clung to him. When she’d floated back down, he was nearly shaking from the effort of withholding his own release, his arms braced on either side of her head again.

Though still under him, she tightened her legs and rolled her hips upward, stroking and squeezing him.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, lowering his forehead to the pillow. Encouraged, she bucked up again, gripping his back for traction.

He suddenly lifted her, sitting back to rest on his heels while her legs once more wrapped around his waist. One hand coiled in her hair while the other splayed across her ribs, arms forming a steel cage and pressing her bare chest to his. And then, for one, breathless moment, everything stopped. It was just them, twined together in the eye of a seemingly endless storm.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, dropping open kisses along his shoulder where it connected with his neck while she rocked him deeper into her.

As if on command, he stilled a second later, cursing through clenched teeth and moving a hand down to grasp her hip, thrusting and pulsing inside of her until there was nothing left.

He shifted them and slowly pulled out, falling beside her on the too-small bed with their legs still tangled together as they stared up at the ceiling above them. The room was lighter than when she had entered, the sun creeping toward the horizon outside his window.

“Hermione,” Fred started after a while, sounding a little awkward as he broke the silence. “I don’t… this probably isn’t a good time…”

She wasn’t shocked or insulted in the least, having been prepared to say the same thing if he didn’t. This wasn’t the beginning of some great love story; she didn’t expect him to carry her off into the sunset. They were just two people, friends, that had found solace in one another’s arms in a night that it seemed there wasn’t any to be had.

And as the morning sun caught the dust motes sparkling in the air above them, it occurred to her that that endless night was over. 

“Don’t,” she said, turning her head to look at him. “Not now. We can talk about it when we don’t die, alright?”

He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching up a little before he nodded. She might have imagined it, or perhaps she was projecting, but it looked like the smallest amount of light had crept back into his eyes.

“I have to get dressed and get back to Ginny’s room,” she sighed, sitting up, “your mum will be awake soon to make breakfast.”

She stiffened for a moment as she pulled her shorts and knickers up, realising all at once that there was an entire clan of Weasleys, plus Fleur and Harry, outside the door.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said, calming her unspoken fears.

“I’m not ashamed,” she said quickly, truthfully.

“I know,” he nodded, brows pulled together a bit. “But this was… it was just ours, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she huffed a light laugh as she tugged her shirt back on and ran her fingers through the hopeless nest on her head.

She moved to the door, turning back to him, still naked on the bed, now with his dark red sheets pulled up past his hips. There was a pregnant pause, neither sure exactly how to end the encounter, before Fred spoke.

“See you at breakfast?”

She gave him a relieved smile and nodded.

“Yeah, see you at breakfast.”

oOoOoOo

**Author's Note:**

> Beta love to TanzaniteWrites and CrazyKitCat.


End file.
